


There’s Love Lurking In This Home Of Ours

by ojangel



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst, Bisexual Mike Hanlon, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Complicated Relationships, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Infidelity, Kissing, Love Triangle, M/M, Teenage Losers Club (IT), The Clubhouse (IT)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:08:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21570982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ojangel/pseuds/ojangel
Summary: Mike is sort of totally in love with Eddie. Too bad Richie is, too.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Eddie Kaspbrak
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	There’s Love Lurking In This Home Of Ours

“Oh!”

Eddie pulls away, lips twitching. Sunlight drips through the trapdoor and onto his face and Mike, for a moment, thinks _Woah!!_ It’s a strange and rather simple thought, one that he’d normally think around pretty girls, though he doesn’t find himself minding it.

“Oh?” Eddie mocks, but not unkindly. He’s still smiling, shy, and a warm blush has spread through his freckled cheeks. “What did you think?”

“I thought it was nice,” Mike says, honestly. Without really noticing, he brushes a finger across his lip. “But I’ve never... I’m not— I usually only kiss girls.”

A line forms between Eddie’s brows. Mike almost reaches out to smooth it away.

“Yes, well. Girls are alright, I suppose. But that’s not really what I was asking,” Eddie replies. He looks down at his hands, only a few centimetres away from Mike’s own. It would be so, so easy to just grab on and hold them. It’d be nice too, Mike bets. “What did you think of the kiss?”

The ‘Oh’ almost falls from his mouth again. Mike lets it fizzle out at the tip of his tongue, and instead says, “No, Eddie, you misunderstand. I like girls, not boys. I want to kiss girls, not—“

— _you._ _I_ _don’t_ _want_ _to_ _kiss_ _you_. The words hang heavy between them. “And anyway, what about Richie? I thought you two... Well, you like him, don’t you?”

“I like you both,” Eddie explains, short and simple. “It’s different with you both. With you, I can be... vulnerable, and not be seen as the delicate boy who needs protecting. Not that I’m not being myself with the losers, but it’s easier without an audience. You make me feel safe. While Richie— he is always so light and just, there. It’s like he’s larger than life, and God. _God_ , I love when he shines a little light on me, because it warms me up. Makes me feel safe, too. Only, I give myself these expectations around him. I feel like I have something to prove.” Eddie pauses, mouth dry. Then, “I don’t feel like that with you.”

Mike lets out a little breath. “I... Jeez, Eddie. Thank you. You make me feel safe, too.”

It feels like a confession. Probably cause it is, Mike realises.

“Really?” Eddie asks, biting down on his lip. Mike nods, quick. “Tell me why.”

“Well, I don’t have a huge monologue just ready like you do,” Mike jokes, shuffling a little closer. “But... you were the first kid to give me more than a glance. And, you know, I quite like being a loser. But I don’t wanna be a loser cause I’m black, I wanna be a loser cause that’s just who I am. I was homeschooled, my parents are dead. There’s so much material there! But, no. Everyone gave me a label, like they did you. You were the fag, the girly boy. But, you’re a loser— to me, anyway— because of the way you’re crazy about health, and so paranoid about everything that it’s almost annoying. You understood me, in that way. I don’t know how else to explain it. You’ve always understood me, and that’s why you make me feel safe. You make me feel good.”

Eddie kisses him again.

Mike’s eyes close on their accord as he pulls his hands up to rest against the sides of Eddie’s face. His cheeks are soft, a contrast to Mike’s own calloused palms.

A soft whine escapes Eddie, seemingly by accident. Mike moves away a little, their noses still bumping. The air between them mingles. “I think you should know that you just made the most lovely sound.” He pecks Eddie on the mouth again. “It was actually very hot.”

“Fucking stop,” Eddie mutters, embarrassed, except he makes no effort to move away from Mike’s careful grip. “Are we going to kiss again?”

“Of course we are,” Mike says. “We are going to kiss as many times as we’d like.”

Eddie giggles, and they kiss again. There’s more purpose this time, like both of them having a goal here. They probably do. Mike’s hands move from Eddie’s cheeks, one onto his shoulder and the other to his waist. He keeps the touches light, while Eddie’s own fingers move around like he wants to explore all of Mike’s skin and map it out. _I’d_ _let_ _him_ , he thinks. _I_ _really_ _would_.

They kiss for a long time. At some point, Mike’s tongue swipes across Eddie’s lip and they start really exploring each other’s mouths. It’s hot, like nothing else in Mike’s life, and almost suffocating. He feels touched everywhere, in both a good and bad way. His cock strains in his pants, and Eddie’s own boner struggles in those little shorts he wears everywhere. Christ. Eddie squeaks when Mike’s hands go up his shirt.

“Is that alright?” he whispers, breaking away. The Clubhouse is suddenly stifling.

Eddie nods hurriedly and attaches his lips to Mike’s neck. He leans back, groaning. “That’s so good, baby.”

Eddie hums against his skin, pleased. Mike keeps running his fingers across the goosebump-covered back, caressing the warm skin with almost reverence. “Do you want to... Can I take my shirt off?”

“Please,” Eddie says, watching with wide eyes. Mike pulls back a little and grabs the bottom of his top, pulling it off in a quick movement. Eddie stares at the wide expanse of his chest. “You’re so handsome.”

“You are, too,” Mike says, suddenly feeling awkward. He’s never really felt insecure, but with the way Eddie’s gaze runs across his body... It’s new. “Maybe we should stop.”

“What?”

“It’s just... The Clubhouse is kind of public, one of the others could come down any moment. And it’s dirty, too. I just think we should do this somewhere with more privacy.”

Way to bring the mood down, Mike thinks. He stares down at his crotch and wills away the hardness as best as he can. Thinking about a horror movie he saw a few weeks ago does the job quite well.

“Maybe you’re right...”

“I’m not backing out,” Mike promises. He presses a lasting kiss on Eddie’s forehead before grabbing his shirt that had been dropped on the floor. It’s a little dusty, but not noticeably so. “And we probably shouldn’t rush it, anywa—“

—the trapdoor banging open interrupts him. Two bodies crash down the stairs, like fucking dominos or some shit. Mike feels like screaming. Eddie doesn’t look to be doing much better.

It’s Bev and Richie, though Mike’s not sure why he expected any different. Ben definitely would never have come down so roughly, and Stan wouldn’t risk falling in some broken glass or something. Bill is always careful, too. Sometimes he’ll knock his head, but that’s about it. Bev and Richie, however, bring chaos wherever they goes.

A small smile pokes through Eddie’s annoyed facade. Mike notices.

Bev stands up first, brushing off imaginary dirt from her yellow dress. Richie gets up a moment later, albeit a little more wobbly and a little less coordinated. His glasses slide down his nose.

Silence drowns the place. Mike can’t look anyone in the eyes.

“I’m sorry!” Bev shouts, giggling a little. Richie grins, red in the face. “Were we interrupting something?”

“No!” Mike says, at the same time Eddie says, “Yes.”

Richie looks between them both, quiet for the first time in his life. Beverly is still laughing at nothing. “Okay, well! We were just gonna get drunk. Look!” she drops her bag onto the ground and rifles through it, pulling a bottle of vodka out with a flourish. “Shots, shots, shots!”

“That’s illegal. We’re only seventeen,” Eddie mutters. He starts grabbing the stuff that’s been scattered around since the two first came down—an inhaler, his hoodie, a glittery pen. “I’ve a curfew. See you guys.”

He’s gone before Mike can decide whether to follow him or not.

“What the fuck was that about?” Richie asks, obviously uncomfortable.

Mike sighs. “Nothing.”

*****

That night, after Mike’s finished all his chores and lays awake in bed, he thinks of the way Eddie tasted and smelt. Like lavender and medicine, like home. Mike wants to call him, make sure everything’s okay, but it’s like he’s been cursed not to.

It’s a terrible feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> soft kasplon feels.
> 
> (sorry i ditched this fic... i just lost all inspiration for it.)


End file.
